


Fictitious Paramours

by kjack89



Series: Canon-Era Fluff [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Developing Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:36:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Enjolras's parents attempt to foist a romantic match on him, Enjolras decides to take matters into his own hands and use his living arrangement with Grantaire to his advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fictitious Paramours

**Author's Note:**

> Really it's just canon-era fake boyfriend fluff.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies as always in the vein of me not owning things, typos being my own fault, blah blah boring you already. Onward!

Grantaire should have known.

Things had been going surprisingly – even  _shockingly -_  well, sharing accommodations with Enjolras. Their fights had lessened in both frequency and intensity, in part just as learning about each other and their different strengths and weaknesses, the things one cannot know until dwelling with someone. Grantaire learned that when Enjolras did not eat for more than six hours, his temper tended to run hotter than normal; Enjolras learned that when Grantaire was in a black mood, nothing could get through to him, and the absolute best thing was giving him time and unspoken support.

So together they learned and grew in their friendship, and though Grantaire was selfish enough to admit that he would always want more, it was enough.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last.

Enjolras swept home one day in a storm of rage, such as Grantaire had rarely seen. He slammed the door when first he came in and practically flung his jacket and cravat into his bedchamber, all the while cursing under his breath. Grantaire, who had been lounging on the settee and nursing his second bottle of wine (that afternoon; morning wine did not count, more to alleviate the headache he woke with than work on getting drunk). “Dare I ask what ails you?” Grantaire asked, a little cautiously. “If it is the Republic, remember that France is a cruel mistress, but certainly not worth berating yourself over.”

“It is not France that is cruel,” Enjolras growled, slumping into the méridienne across from Grantaire. “It is my parents whose cruelty knows no bounds.”

Grantaire sat up, already concerned. Enjolras rarely spoke of his parents, save to say that their views diverged. He was prone to telling those who asked that the Republic was his mother and thus most dear, so for him to even mention his parents told Grantaire more than anything how dire the situation was. “What have they done to cause such concern?”

To Grantaire’s surprise, Enjolras blushed slightly and looked away before mumbling, “My parents are trying to find a match for me.”

“A match?” Grantaire repeated, raising an eyebrow at him. “What sort of a match?”

Enjolras snorted. “What sort of a match,” he muttered, shaking his head. “The sort of a match that would be my bane, the sort of a match that would enslave me to the system that I am sworn to dismantle.”

Grantaire’s frown deepened. “You speak in riddles not even I can make sense of. Speak plainly of what troubles you, and perhaps a solution can be found.”

Enjolras sighed heavily before saying, almost reluctantly, “They are endeavoring to make a romantic match for me.”

“A romantic match.” Grantaire repeated the words as if they made no sense, and truly, they didn’t, at least not applied to Enjolras. “Are your parents acquainted with you? Do they know what you are like?”

Enjolras managed a small smile. “You would think if they were they would not attempt such a thing, but alas, they think not with logic but with greed.” At the questioning look Grantaire gave him, he elaborated, “A romantic match between myself and a prominent young woman of society could bring much to my family, particularly if the match were to end in a marriage.”

Though Grantaire knew the situation was serious – if perhaps not as dire as Enjolras was making it seem – he could not help but laugh at that. “You, marry?” he snorted. “The idea is absurd. And surely they would see that too.”

As quickly as it had come, Enjolras’s smile fled, replaced by a scowl. “Whether or not they would see it in time, nonetheless they desire me to return home so that I may make the acquaintance of the young ladies of their choosing. I have neither the time, patience, nor desire to do so, but they are threatening to withhold what few benefits they provide for me.” He paused and met Grantaire’s gaze squarely. “Including my housing.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “So either you return to meet some fine ladies of society, or I become homeless.” He raised his wineglass in a toast. “The choice seems obvious to me, and I shall search for new accommodations immediately.”

“Be serious,” Enjolras snapped. “I would not see you thrown out on the streets just as surely as I would not see myself. Nor will I abandon my beliefs for something so banal.” Frowning, he rubbed a hand across his eyes, his scowl turning contemplative. “There must be a third option, something that will stop my parents from asking this of me while not causing them to withdraw their allowance.”

Shaking his head, Grantaire said wryly, “Short of finding a young lady on your own, what else can you do?”

Enjolras froze and stared at Grantaire. “That is perfect,” he breathed, his eyes lighting up as if Grantaire had just declaimed on the benefits of the Republic. “That’s the answer!”

“What’s the answer?” Grantaire asked, confused. “You wish to force some poor, unsuspecting lady of Paris to be your mock-paramour in hopes of discouraging your parents?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, his voice growing in excitement. “And at the same time, very much no. Not a lady of Paris. You.”

Grantaire had made the mistake of taking a swig of wine right when Enjolras uttered those fateful words, and thus choked on it. “I beg your pardon?” he spluttered.

Enjolras blushed slightly but carried on determinedly. “It is a perfect situation, you and I already dwelling together. It is the perfect story to tell, and I must tell them something to stop this foolish idea from going forward.”

Grantaire openly gaped at him. “And what story is it you wish to tell? You want me to pretend to be your – what?”

“My live-in paramour,” Enjolras said primly.

Grantaire glanced wildly down at the bottle clenched in his fist, half-wondering if the wine had gone off and he was hallucinating. He desperately cast his hopes on logic. “Enjolras, I am not a woman.”

Enjolras snorted and shook his head. “I know that.”

“Do your parents?”

Smiling grimly, Enjolras shrugged. “Trust me, they will be far more surprised that I have a paramour, let alone a live-in paramour, to care or probably even notice that you are male.” His smiled widened into a satisfied grin. “It is the perfect plan. They cannot draw attention to my situation or else cause quite the scandal in certain circles, and cannot also risk revoking my allowance without revealing the cause.”

Grantaire still did not look convinced. “And do you not think that they will do everything in their power to turn you from this past, to get you to abandon me?”

“To the contrary. I rather expect it.” Enjolras crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow at Grantaire. “Surely you can handle their disapproval for the brief time you will be in its focus.”

Grantaire’s smile soured. “I have dealt with the disapproval of one Enjolras, to be certain. I do not know if I can take disapproval from multiple at the same time.”

Though Enjolras looked taken aback at first, his expression quickly softened, and his voice was gentle as he told Grantaire, “They will come for tea, meet you, and then they will leave. A simple evening of distraction, nothing more.”

After a long moment, Grantaire inclined his head, though he still looked skeptical. “Very well. If you truly believe that is all it will take.”

Enjolras smiled widely. “You have my word.”

* * *

 

“My mother is coming to stay with us.”

Grantaire choked on wine for the second time in as many days, and he squeaked, “What?”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose and waved the letter that had just been delivered. “I appear to have underestimated my parents’ interest in the man whom I have chosen as a paramour. My mother writes that she will come stay with us for a few days, so as to get to know you properly.”

Eyes wide with something approximating panic, Grantaire asked in a voice not too much deeper than before, “But what are we going to do?”

“What else can we do?” Enjolras snapped. “We must let her come or allow the ruse to be discovered.” He shook his head, eyes taking on the far-away look they got when he started planning. “We must move all your belongings into my bedchamber. That will be the easiest way to convince her of what we are.”

Grantaire’s expression was strange as he watched Enjolras pace. “And at night?” he asked, his voice quiet. “When your mother listens through the walls, what shall she hear?”

For the first time, Enjolras’s expression flickered, leaving him looking embarrassed and overwhelmed. “What do you think she should hear?” he asked quietly.

Also for the first time, Grantaire remembered that for all his talk of how perfect this plan was, Enjolras had most likely not thought through the particulars of how he and Grantaire would convince his mother of this foolish venture. And Grantaire felt his heart drop with the realization that while it would be easy, so very easy for Grantaire to do this, it would take more than anything for Enjolras to do the same.

So he stood, his movement sudden, and said woodenly, “I forgot that I was meant to meet Joly and Bossuet to break our fast this morning. I…I will return soon.”

With that said, he all but ran outside, head and heart reeling as he thought about what was expected of him. He could not do this. He could  _not_  do this. He—

“Grantaire!” Grantaire slowed when he saw Combeferre down the street, waving at him, and his heart fell even slower. How was he to explain everything to Combeferre? But as Combeferre drew closer, Grantaire saw from the look on Combeferre’s face that he already knew or at least suspected. “I thought you were meant to be assisting Enjolras in preparing for the visit from his parents.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I was. I mean to say – I am. I forgot that I was meant to meet Joly and Bossuet. And it is more than just a visit. His mother is staying with us for a few days.”

Comprehension dawned over Combeferre’s face. “Ah. I see.” His expression turned shrewd. “And this is going to be more of a problem than you anticipated when you came to this arrangement with Enjolras.”

“I will not have a problem with it,” Grantaire said honestly, knowing it did him no good to lie now. “Certainly this may be the easiest task ever assigned to me. But Enjolras…I cannot make Enjolras act convincingly, could not even  _ask_  him to act convincingly in this venture.” He shook his head slowly. “I cannot do this.”

“But you  _can_ ,” Combeferre told him firmly. “If your concern is merely Enjolras’s acting I feel obliged to inform you that to everyone it already seems that the two of you are paramours just by the way you act naturally. Provided you can keep that up…”

Grantaire snorted, though he also looked slightly more relaxed. “Certainly that would only be true to those who do not know us well at all.” Combeferre remained silent, something unreadable on his face, and Grantaire sighed. “Very well. I shall return with you to Enjolras’s. And you can even help move all of my belongings to Enjolras’s bedchamber.”

* * *

 

Though Grantaire did not know what he had expected, the moment he saw Enjolras’s mother, he knew instantly that she was it. She had the same regal bearing as her son, the same blonde curls, though hers were pinned up in the fashion of the moment. Her eyes were the biggest difference, a gentle grey instead of piercing blue, and that was perhaps the biggest relief to Grantaire when he saw her; he did not think he could handle two sets of the same soul-searing eyes.

Enjolras kissed his mother lightly on the cheek and murmured, “Maman,” before stepping back and gesturing to Grantaire. “This is Grantaire.”

Grantaire swallowed hard and stepped forward, also kissing her cheek. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice pitched lower than normal. “I do not know what you wish me to call you.”

She looked at him almost haughtily. “You can call me Madame,” she said, almost imperiously, pulling off her shawl as she glanced around the suite. “So this is what your father’s hard-earned money has been going towards?”

“Among other things,” Enjolras said, instantly tensing at the words.

Grantaire smiled slightly and reached out to squeeze Enjolras’s hand. “Your son is too modest, Madame. The generous money from yourself and your husband goes not only to furnishing this modest suite but also towards his studies and, of course, towards hosting and entertaining his paramour as befitting his status.”

Enjolras shot Granaire a glare, but his mother nodded approvingly. “Of course he is,” she said firmly. “He was raised in the proper fashion. And speaking of proper fashion, shall we have tea?”

Grantaire nodded. “Of course. Have a seat, Madame, and I shall bring tea for all of us.” He squeezed Enjolras’s hand once more before slipping into the kitchenette.

Enjolras led his mother to the méridienne and sat across the room on the settee. “While we await tea, will you update me on the latest society scandal that I am surely missing?” he asked lightly.

To his relief, his mother took the bait, and the conversation – wholly one-sided – lasted until Grantaire returned with the tea, and even then for a few minutes beyond that. Grantaire settled next to Enjolras on the settee as if he belonged there, his foot rubbing against Enjolras’s ankle too deliberately to have been accidental, his shoulder brushing against Enjolras’s as a gentle reminder of his presence, and he rested his free hand on Enjolras’s thigh, low enough to not risk vulgarity but enough to indicate subtle possession.

On any other day, Enjolras would have snapped at Grantaire, but he noticed his mother watching every movement over the rim of her cup and he wisely said nothing, instead relaxing against Grantaire, who looked surprised for a brief moment, though he quickly smoothed his expression into something neutral.

Eventually, Enjolras’s mother turned the conversation still dominated by her to the topic of society parties. She recounted the latest scandal du jour and ended by looking at them appraisingly. “Certainly this situation is not as bad as all that. Perhaps we should invite the both of you to attend one of this year’s society parties,” she mused, taking a sip of her tea. “After all, the stir it would cause would get our family’s name discussed, which would certainly help your father…”

Grantaire froze, and Enjolras quickly reached out to squeeze his hand. “I do not think so, Maman,” he said quietly. “We live a quiet life together.”

“And I would never presume upon what society status you and your husband have earned,” Grantaire added smoothly, recovering from his surprise. He squeezed Enjolras’s hand once more and stood. “Now if you would excuse me, I must go see to supper.”

To his surprise, Enjolras’s mother stood as well, bending to set her tea cup back on the saucer. “I will accompany you, if you do not mind. There is more that I would learn about your life with my son.”

Enjolras looked from Grantaire to his mother, stricken, and his mother chided, “Do not look so terrified. I’ll not ask him anything too personal. I merely wish to get to know him better.”

“You can use this time for your work,” Grantaire told him, smiling reassuringly. “I know you are loath to fall behind, and supper shall not cook faster with you in the kitchen with us.”

To Enjolras’s surprise, Grantaire bent and kissed Enjolras’s forehead before following Enjolras’s mother to the kitchen to begin preparing supper. Enjolras sat back against the settee, feeling suddenly drained. Though it had certainly been easier than he anticipated to uphold the charade, he nonetheless was feeling the strain. And now his mother was continuing to suss out their relationship, and without Enjolras there to intervene in case things went sour.

Still, Grantaire had also been handling the situation remarkably well, better than Enjolras had ever anticipated. He had not acted any different than normal, really, as open and affectionate as he normally was with Enjolras, though certainly his affection had been more physical in nature than Enjolras was used to. Still, he had been put at ease by Grantaire, and he would be forever grateful for that, assuming they made it through the rest of his mother’s visit in a similar fasion.

Regardless, he would not waste what could be a fleeting opportunity to work on the Cause during his mother’s visit and thus slipped into his bedchamber to sit at his desk and work on the latest pamphlet. He lost himself in the work for a long time, long enough that when he looked up, he realized that his mother and Grantaire had spent far too much time alone together.

He gave the pamphlet one last look and stood instead, creeping over to the kitchen and pausing outside to listen to what Grantaire and his mother was saying. Eavesdropping was not the most honorable choice, but he did not wish to walk into a conversation completely unguarded.

To his surprise, Grantaire was talking, his voice low and pleasant, and he could imagine Grantaire working on the simple stew that he was making, stirring it while keeping up a steady stream of conversation. His mother interjected every so often, but mostly remained silent, listening.

Enjolras leaned in closer, and froze when he heard his mother ask, “As fascinating as your stories are, and truly, they are – they reveal a side to my son that I so rarely see – but I wish to know more of what you  _feel_  for him. You speak of your friendship, but what more is there?”

“Truthfully?” Grantaire asked, almost contemplative, and Enjolras held his breath, wondering what Grantaire would say. “In him…In him I have found myself and become someone more than I ever thought I could be. To speak plainly, I love him.”

Now Enjolras froze even more than before, his very heartbeat seeming to stutter to a stop. Surely…surely Grantaire spoke only what words he thought Enjolras’s mother need hear, for he could not speak them in sincerity. Could he?

Enjolras was saved from having to contemplate it by the sounds of his mother and Grantaire getting ready to leave the kitchen, and he scurried back to his room, his heart once again pounding in his chest.

Supper was a taut affair, with Enjolras far too distracted from what he had overheard to be much in the way of pleasant conversation. Grantaire kept shooting him confused glances while his mother just prattled on as always. Thankfully, following supper, his mother excused herself to freshen up, and as soon as the bedchamber door closed behind her, Grantaire turned to Enjolras, his brow furrowed. “What ails you?” he hissed. “You were fine before supper; has your work put you off your appetite? I can only keep the charade up for so long on my own.”

“I know that,” Enjolras returned, his voice equally quiet. “I merely…I overheard part of your conversation with my mother.” Grantaire seemed to go quiet, pursing his lips slightly, and Enjolras barreled onwards. “Did you mean what you told her? Did you mean what you said…” He trailed off, unsure whether he even wanted to ask the question, whether he even wanted to know the answer. “Did you mean what you said when you said what you feel about me?”

Grantaire shook his head, his expression stony. “It was nothing,” he said, his voice as expressionless as his face. “I told your mother what she expected to hear.”

Enjolras shook his head as well, his own expression hardening. “It was  _not_ nothing,” he insisted, though he also hesitated, eyes searching Grantaire’s. “Wasn’t it?”

Grantaire sighed and shrugged, starting to turn away, but Enjolras grabbed his arm, holding him in place, and after a moment far too long and uncomfortable for both of them, Enjolras leaned in and kissed him.

His kissing experience was lacking, to say the least, but Grantaire did not seem to mind, stepping closer to him and kissing back, his mouth moving against Enjolras’s, and Enjolras just managed to wrap his arms around Grantaire’s neck to keep himself upright.

It was impossible to say how long they would have stayed like that were it not for a quiet, “Hem-hem,” from Enjolras’s mother, who was watching them with a raised eyebrow. Both Enjolras and Grantaire went red simultaneously, and Grantaire muttered something indistinguishable before disappearing into Enjolras’s bedchamber.

Enjolras was not so lucky, and he tried to meet his mother’s inquisitive gaze. “I apologize—” he began, but his mother waved him off.

“There is no need to apologize, least of all because I am a guest in your home.” She smiled at him, the warmest smile she had shared all evening. “And I will not intrude much longer. I will be leaving on the morrow.”

Enjolras stared at her in shock. “Leaving?” he repeated, barely trusting to hope. “Whatever for?”

She shrugged. “As you well know my purpose here was to dissuade you from being foolish and throwing your status away for a paramour, particularly a male paramour, but I know a losing battle when I see one.” Her expression softened, and she crossed to Enjolras, taking both his hands in hers. “Any hope of dissuading you would be foolish, as you and your Grantaire are very clearly in love with each other, and not even I would get in the way of that.”

She kissed his cheek before Enjolras could formulate words to respond, and disappeared back in her bedchamber, leaving Enjolras to follow Grantaire into theirs. Grantaire did not meet his eyes as he entered, already stripped to his shirtsleeves and trousers and under the coverlet on the bed. “I hope you do not mind that I make it an early night,” Grantaire muttered, still refusing to look over at Enjolras.

There were so many things that Enjolras wished to say to Grantaire. He settled instead for nodding mechanically. “Certainly not,” he muttered, his hand fluttering uselessly over the papers on his desk. “I will remain up a bit longer, if that will not bother you.”

“It will not,” Grantaire said, and for the first time he rolled over to look at Enjolras, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Enjolras.”

“Goodnight,” Enjolras whispered, watching as Grantaire turned over in bed (and truth be told, he watched Grantaire for a very long time after that).

* * *

 

True to her word, Enjolras’s mother left early the next morning, kissing both Enjolras’s cheeks as well as Grantaire's before sweeping out as quickly as she had swept in, completely oblivious to what she left in her wake. Once she was gone, Enjolras and Grantaire stared at each other for a long moment. Then Grantaire shrugged. “I suppose I should move my things back to my bedchamber,” he said lightly.

Enjolras nodded slowly. “Certainly. And I shall lend you a hand in doing so.” He followed Grantaire into his bedchamber, then hesitated. “But maybe you shouldn’t.”

“I beg your pardon?” Grantaire asked, glancing up at him from where he was gathering his clothes from the chest of drawers. “I fear leaving my clothes in here would be more inconvenient than the time it will take to move them.”

Enjolras flushed but continued determinedly. “It is not just your clothing that I refer to. Though certainly, maybe you should leave them. Maybe you should leave everything. Maybe you…maybe you should stay.”

Grantaire froze, staring up at him. “Surely you do not mean that.”

Enjolras looked steadily back at him. “Surely I do,” he said quietly. When Grantaire just continued to stare at him, Enjolras flushed slightly and continued hurriedly, “Last night and yesterday, spent like this, I…I did not know it could feel like this, that I could have this without neglecting the Cause or my duties therein. But you have proven me wrong again and again. And not just from these past few days, but from as long as we have lived together. You—”

Whatever Enjolras had been about to say was cut off by Grantaire surging forward to kiss him. Much like their kiss from the previous night, it was fierce and passionate, and Enjolras wrapped his fingers in Grantaire’s hair and kissed him back.

They kissed for a long moment before Grantaire pulled back, his expression gently as he practically cradled Enjolras’s head in his hands. “We have much that we need to discuss,” he murmured, his tone turning serious.

“Indeed we do,” Enjolras said, just as quietly, though the hint of a smile played with the corners of his mouth. “But I believe you have a promise to upkeep in warming my bed, and see no reason why we should not attend to that first…”

Grantaire laughed and kissed him again. “Action first, talk later,” he said, pulling Enjolras over to the bed. “I believe I could get used to that behavior, Monsieur Enjolras.”

Enjolras kissed him as well before pushing him back onto the bed. “There is much that I could get used to,” he said, his eyes dark, and the smile he gave Grantaire was genuine. “And I look forward to the opportunity to do so.”


End file.
